Abduction
by xStaticPulse
Summary: Just a little ficlet I wrote. Simply, it is about a young girl being possessed by the soul and essence of Samara, being forced to do the unthinkable against her will.


  
  
The evening was dull with humidity of summer. Silence was an understatement in the gentle town of Birchburry, and was even more pleasent inside a one family house being guarded by a paid fourteen year old. Daytona's fingers gently tapped against the shined surface of her neighbor's coffee table, eyes diverting to the child sprawled across the living room floor. Babysitting was the only way her adolecent self was able to bring in money these days, so here she was. Nothing too difficult so far.  
  
Heavy guitar and base beats rang from the headphones placed around neck, the lyrics of an alternative rock band bleeding into her eardrums.  
  
"I tried to kill the pain but only brought more  
  
I lie dying and I am pouring crimson regret and betrayl."  
  
Not too far away, six year old Caitlyn Ravine stabbed a worn yellow marker into the piece of paper in front of her with distaste.  
  
Thump. Thump. Thump.  
  
A pout formed at her angelic features, honey blonde curls framing delicate cheek bones and dimples that dipped into her freckled face. Finally giving up in her short handed task, she dropped the drawing tool onto the pale teal carpet and flicked on the television. Immediatly the blaring sound of fuzzed static filled the house.  
  
Daytona's nose wrinkled in concentraiton. Eyes hidden by thick lashes were closed in order to concentrate to the intricate lyrics.  
  
"I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming  
  
Am I too lost to be saved  
  
Am I too lost?"  
  
Meanwhile, Caitlyn continued to twitch her fingers against the television's control settings. She leaned forward and twisted the plug from the outlet, only to have the screen go black. The static mist appeared a split second later.  
  
Crackle. Crackle. Crackle.  
  
The much older girl leaned back in her chair and slipped off a worn pair of sneakers. Folds of mousy brown hair tumbled against her hips in response.  
  
"My God, my tourniquet  
  
Return to me salvation."  
  
A sharp tug caused the base of her CD player to topple to the floor. With an aggravated sigh, eyes still kept closed from exhaustion, she began to let her fingers blindly creep across the vanilla tile. Silence was interupted by the television's confusion.  
  
Pitter. Patter. Pitter. Patter.  
  
Her eyes blinked open toward the living room.  
  
Caitlyn was not there. The broken marker's clogged ink seeped into the expensive rug.  
  
Creak. Creak. Slam.  
  
Daytona spun around on her backside and watched as one of the wooden cabinets flung open on Caitlyn's side. Her sticky fingers shuffled absent mindedly among the several different utensils.  
  
Clink. Clatter. Clink.  
  
A thin eyebrow arched in question to the todler's actions.  
  
"Do you need a spoon or something?"  
  
Appearing in the young girl's hand was nothing of the ordinary, but a black handled steak knife. Its teeth gnawed at the heavy atmosphere of the kitchen. Caitlyn began in a steady stride in her direction. Her platnium blonde roots were beginning to morph to a raven ebony. Scars massed in a winding jungle across her nose and cheeks, growing thicker and more noticable by the moment.  
  
Swish. Swish. Swish.  
  
Daytona's eyes expanded to saucers, and before she could scream she felt a white hot surge enter the flow of her stomach. Everything around her began to blurr as a light weight frame propped itself upon the bottom of her knees. Caitlyn sat in silence against her knees and continued to inject the blade repeatadly into the teenager's upright palm.  
  
Slice. Stab. Slice.  
  
The weight of the two crumpled upon the CD player's 'play' button and caused a faint trace of lyrics to pour out into the open.  
  
"My God, my tourniquet, return to me salvation."  
  
Caitlyn admired the heap of mutilated flesh underneath her knees, now fading from their peach color to a paper white. Bare feet dripping with sour-smelling water began to coat with a fresh coat of crimson. As the young girl stood onto her heels and across the kitchen, blood slipping away from the knife's blade puddled onto the floor.  
  
Drip. Drip. Drip. 


End file.
